


Better

by faraandmera



Series: Pain-Verse [4]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: (theyre vague but there), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, M/M, referenced suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faraandmera/pseuds/faraandmera
Summary: Seventeen year old Evan had done the same thing, two years ago. Had stared at the ceiling feeling bad for himself. His arm was broken, at the time. Would be, for a while after that. Would be even when seventeen year old Evan became eighteen year old Evan, and he’d gotten better. And he had a friend, and someone understood. That had been progress, too. That had been a step.He’s further from that, now. Two years is a lifetime, and he’s better, he thinks. Not good, never good, but better.So why does he still feel like this?





	Better

**Author's Note:**

> if you think i know what im doing with this universe you're wrong

Progress. If he were to look back, Evan could see it, clearly. Could look at seventeen year old Evan and think, “I’m better than I was then.” To think he’s grown. To think things are better.

Evan stares at the ceiling of his room. Progress, huh? There isn’t much in the way of sound, the house quiet, and he suddenly feels small. Feels like a little kid, again, scared that things are going to disappear. Remembers conversations long over, and wonders if he could have said something different. Something better. Thinks of conversations likely never to happen, excuses for himself, for his sadness, that he’ll never make. Stares at the ceiling, though it’s too dark to see, and thinks: progress.

He’s made progress. Even if he’s not perfect, never will be. Even if he can't see it.

 

Connor had relapsed, earlier in the summer. Evan had been upset, of course he would be, but he feels guilty for feeling angry. For being angry at Connor. For not talking to him, or to anyone. For doing something, when he’d been doing so well. And it’s wrong. Because it’s not Connor’s fault. Because he’s sick, and no matter the progress he’s made, relapses happen. Because Evan is a hypocrite.

Because Evan’s relapses haven’t put him in the hospital. But, Evan knows, that doesn’t make him any better. Doesn’t change the fact that he hasn’t told Connor, either. Doesn’t change the fact that they’d founded their relationship on being able to talk to each other, and neither of them were.

Evan stares at the ceiling, too dark for him to see more than vague outlines of the panels that make it up. Progress, right?

Seventeen year old Evan had done the same thing, two years ago. Had stared at the ceiling feeling bad for himself. His arm was broken, at the time. Would be, for a while after that. Would be even when seventeen year old Evan became eighteen year old Evan, and he’d gotten better. And he had a friend, and someone understood. That had been progress, too. That had been a step.

He’s further from that, now. Two years is a lifetime, and he’s better, he thinks. Not good, never good, but better.

Connor had relapsed a month earlier and Evan had nearly thrown up.

Connor had relapsed a month earlier, and Evan had wondered, vaguely, if he could tell the truth. If he could tell Connor he was doing worse, too. But he hadn’t.

Still hasn’t.

Evan stares at the ceiling, breathes a sigh, and rolls onto his side. It’s another day, ignoring the obvious. Ignoring what he’s doing. Ignoring his regression. Eighteen year old Evan- who had graduated, who had felt better, who had been happy, if only for moments at a time- would be angry with him. Would be upset with him. Because he’d done so much; to try and be honest. To not keep things to himself. To go to Connor, or his mother, or _someone_ when things were bad, just like he would go to them.

 

 _“You remember how you asked how your mom could still love you,”_ Evan messages Connor, frowning at his own message. It’s late- or early, technically- but Connor doesn’t have a real schedule.

_“yea”_

_“I said it was okay not to understand”_

_“yes?”_

_“but I,” Evan clutches his phone tighter. “I want to understand”_

_“ev?”_

_“Why you love me”_

_“what are you talking about?”_

_“i’m a terrible person”_

_“that’s not true. are you okay?”_ A pause, then another message. _“no thats a stupid question obviously not.”_

_“i havent told you things”_

_“things?”_

_“ive been feeling worse. Like before. Like before we were friends. And I don’t know why. And I don’t know what to do.”_

_“Evan.”_

_“and I got angry. When you got worse. Even though thats not fair. Even though you don’t deserve me being mad. Even though im just as bad and im a horrible person. But I was scared because if you could do that then what about me”_

_“evan you know what do you mean what about you?”_

_“what could I do without telling anyone”_

_“plenty, or nothing. youre telling me now aren’t you”_

_“I guess”_

_“do you want me to come over? should you not be alone?”_

_“I don’t know. Maybe.”_

_“ok.”_

_“im sorry”_

_“dont have to be.”_

 

“You know,” Connor says, quietly. He’s laying besides Evan, on the floor, staring up at the same dark ceiling. Evan nods, despite it not being a full statement. “Someone once asked me if it actually gets better.”

“Someone?”

“Mhm,” Connor nods, humming. “I’m famous, remember?”

“Right, right.” Evan laughs at that, and for a second forgets the whole reason this conversation is happening. “So?”

“So I said yes, and a lot more, but let’s do bullet points.”

“Sure.”

“Better isn’t a goal. Better just means not as bad as right now, and it always will be better. Even if it’s not a lot, even if it’s just being able to get up one day when you couldn’t the day before. And I’ve been better. You’ve been better. Just because things got worse, doesn’t change that they were better. Doesn’t change that they will be again.”

“When did- when’d you become the smart one?”

“Last week.” Connor turns his head, to look at Evan, and Evan laughs.

“Wow, I didn’t notice.”

“I was very subtle about it.” Connor smiles, turns back to the ceiling. “I know this is- kinda, a lot- really fucking hypocritical, but you can talk to me. I know- I think I get what’s going on with us.”

“Oh, do tell?”

“Shut up, nerd. No- it’s like- I don’t fucking know- like I feel guilty, when I start feeling bad, because we were both getting better. Which is really fucking stupid, because the whole point- the reason we were getting better is because we told each other when we weren’t. That and therapy, but you know.”

“Yeah.” Evan sighs. “When you- I was angry because you didn’t talk to me, but not because of what happened. I know you- we’re both not- these things will never go away, and I know that. I wished you’d talked to me, and- and then I was angry with myself because I was being a hypocrite too.”

“That’s okay.”

“What?”

“Being upset. You didn’t take anything out on me, or whatever, so.” Connor shrugs. “You’re allowed to feel things. Anger is- it’s hard to deal with.”

Evan nods. Connor’s biggest struggle is with anger, so he must know. Of course he has to understand, Evan thinks. “Right.”

“But you- but holding it back is a lot. I don’t want you beating yourself up, and not talking to anyone- or something- but it says a lot that you could see that getting pissed at me, outwardly, wouldn’t help. That you didn’t- I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“I think I get it.” Evan nods. “Thank you.”

“And, about the other thing.”

“Other thing?”

“You said it was okay not to understand. Even if we want to, and it’s hard to understand how anyone can feel- how someone can love you when you’re such a mess. It’s okay not to understand.”

“I- yeah.”

“Honestly I didn’t- I got what you were saying, but I didn’t know if I could live with that answer.”

“Past tense?”

“If we can feel all these shitty things for no reason, then why can’t someone else feel something good for no reason? Maybe there isn’t one?”

“I guess so.” Evan pauses, nodding, then reaches out to take one of Connors hands. “There probably is one, somewhere. But- yeah- no reason. There doesn’t- we don’t need to explain why we can still- uh- why we love each other despite our lack of progress, or our steps backwards.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Eloquent.”

“Hey I said plenty of eloquent things today, give me a break. The fact I can say anything coherent at ass-o-clock in the morning is a gift.”

“That’s fair.”

“And- you know- not all our steps have been backwards.”

“Yeah.”

“Now who’s the one who’s not eloquent.”

“ _Yeah_ is a very eloquent word, I know not what you mean.”

“Nerd.”

“That’s fair.”

 

Progress. If he were to look back, Evan could see it, clearly. And maybe somewhere he took a turn, or ended up back where he was before. But he kept going forward, eventually. _Better_ , he thinks. It’s not a goal, so it’s okay to say that he has been.

 

“So- like- you want to have ice cream at four in the morning?”

“Evan, what the fuck.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s absolutely a _yes _,__  but still.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was sad idk what to tell you
> 
> Fun fact (I have one this time!): I actually got motivated to write this because of, of all things, two Stray Kids songs. (Insomnia, and Voices)  
> thats all i got  
> thanks for reading my New garbage.
> 
> i......haven't edited this so please tell me if there's so super obvious mistake. edit: i have edited it now, but still


End file.
